


Three Words

by scullywolf



Series: TXF: Scenes in Between [183]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Dana Scully's year-long Pregnancy, F/M, Missing Scene, Mulder's stupid brain disease thing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-01 08:59:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13994901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullywolf/pseuds/scullywolf
Summary: So much went unsaid in the episode that aired. So much. I, your friendly neighborhood Scullywolf, am here to try and do something about that.





	1. Chapter 1

_(pre-episode)_

When he first woke up, and Scully was there at his bedside, he felt only an overwhelming sense of relief. It was _over_ , he was _home_ , and he was _alive_. Maybe he hadn't found what he was looking for, but in that moment, he didn't care. All that mattered was that he'd made it back, and she was happy to see him.

And then she stood up, and it was like he instantly fell out of phase with the world. _Wait, what? How long_ had _he been gone?_

He didn’t ask about it, and she didn’t offer. He defaulted to his traditional defense mechanism of cracking wise and avoiding any actual display of vulnerability. Fake it til you make it. It was strained, though, and he felt a little guilty over how much of a relief it was when she finally went home for the evening.

Not that things improved after she left. He brought half the nursing staff running in the middle of the night with the screams from his nightmares. He thrashed so hard in his sleep he pulled out his IV, then had to be sedated before anyone could reinsert it. Even though he was awake by then and, in theory, had himself under control, he was powerless against the panic that came over him every time the nurse approached with a needle, his heart galloping and a cold sweat breaking out over his whole body. It wasn’t his proudest moment.

When he awakens the next morning, groggy from whatever they gave him to help keep the dreams at bay, Scully is there beside him again. She looks beautiful, radiant even, despite the crappy fluorescent lighting, and for a few blissful moments those are the only thoughts in his head. 

“Hey,” she says softly, eyes shining with a warmth he could happily bask in forever.

“Hey yourself,” he murmurs back with a lazy smile. 

Her hand comes up to brush his hair back from his forehead, and the tender familiarity of the gesture makes him sigh. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now,” he says, then frowns as the spell breaks. Dawning clarity brings with it both the truth behind his words and the memory of the night before. 

Sympathy dims the light in her eyes as she nods. “They told me you had a rough night.”

“Yeah, well…” He looks away, shrugging. “I’ve had worse.”

“Mulder…”

“I'm fine, Scully.”

To her credit, she lets that be the end of it, doesn’t push him to acknowledge how very _not_ fine he actually is.

“I’ve, um… I’ve asked Dr. Lim to run some imaging scans later, if you’re up to it.”

He can feel the color drain from his face at the thought of being restrained for an MRI or CT scan. It’s completely irrational -- he _knows_ he is safe here -- but try telling that to his autonomic nervous system. 

“What,” he croaks, then clears his throat, “what for?”

She squeezes his hand and looks at him steadily. “To see if there’s been any progression of the condition you were suffering from last year.”

_Ah. So she finally knows about that._

It’s a real kick in the teeth, the fact that he went hunting that UFO in the first place hoping against hope that he could somehow find a cure. That his abduction and time spent away from Scully could have been worth it because he would come back to her whole and healthy. Instead he endured months of seemingly meaningless torture and experimentation, only to be returned in a state so dire as to be mistaken for death. For god’s sake, he was _buried_ for three goddamned months. And then despite his miraculous resurrection, the damned brain disease is probably still going to take him out anyway.

“And what if I don’t wanna know?” he asks quietly. “Face it, Scully. As much as I appreciate the lengths you’ve gone to, you were probably better off just leaving me in the ground.”

She sits back like she’s been slapped. “Mulder, how can you say that? How can you possibly think that I… that I could ever--”

“Well maybe _I_ would’ve been better off,” he says coldly.

Her sharp intake of breath sparks a rush of shame. _Fuck, she didn’t deserve that. What in the hell is wrong with me?_

A stronger man would reach for her, would apologize and pull her into his arms and tell her he didn’t mean it. But he isn’t capable of any of that, not least because on some level, he _did_ mean it. Being “dead” hadn’t hurt, and when his brain eventually failed and killed him off for real, he never would have known. 

He turns away from her, rolling onto his side and pulling his knees up protectively. She leaves the room without another word, her exit marked only by the scraping of her chair against the floor and the click of the door latch.

***

She leans against the wall outside his room for a full minute, fighting for composure. However she imagined their reunion playing out, it was _not_ like this.

Logically, from a medical and mental health perspective, she knows that was the trauma speaking, just now. By all appearances, he has suffered something truly horrific, so it would be more surprising if there _weren’t_ any fallout. Still, that does not make his words any less devastating or difficult to hear.

It has been a struggle to keep herself in check, to keep from pouring her heart out to him. She knows better than to overburden him with too much information or to heap her own emotional baggage atop what he is already bearing. After the way his face went ashen when he finally noticed her pregnant belly, she decided to wait and let him be the one to determine when he was ready to talk about it.

It stings more than a little that he still hasn’t said anything.

There have been moments, however fleeting, that have given her hope. She doesn’t think she was imagining the look of unequivocal love in his eyes when he first woke up this morning. And his first words to her yesterday were so authentically _Mulder_ ; she’s still reeling from the fact that he had the presence of mind to essentially prank her immediately upon waking, after everything he’d been through. If there had been any doubt that the man in that room was the same man she lost all those long months ago, that first exchange would have destroyed it.

She wipes her eyes and straightens, taking one last deep breath before going to find Dr. Lim. Those imaging scans can wait one more day. She has been eager to get a look at what they’re up against, as far as Mulder’s brain is concerned, but she won’t push him before he is ready. She knows what he is afraid of finding -- God knows she is afraid of the same thing -- but she is also determined not to let it beat her. Beat them.

She has only just gotten him back. No way in hell is she going to lose him again.


	2. Chapter 2

_“How do you feel, Agent Mulder?”  
_ _“Like Austin Powers.”_

The joke falls flat, maybe because there's more truth to it than he wants to admit. Sure, he’s got better teeth, but what is he if not a man reanimated into a world that's become almost unrecognizable?

His gaze drifts unwittingly to Scully's abdomen. Could there _be_ a more blatant reminder of how much has changed and how long he was away?

Scully and Dr. Lim are both still looking at him, and he tries not to squirm. This news about his brain is unexpected, and it’s something he knows he should be happier about, but he can’t help feeling like maybe, even though it’s selfish as hell, maybe if the damned brain disease had taken him out after all, it might have been the best of both worlds. He could have had a chance to say goodbye to Scully properly -- easier now that she knows everything he kept hidden from her -- and he wouldn’t have had to live out the rest of his days with the constant reminders of how much she and the rest of the world have moved on without him. How little impact he made in his time here.

How pointless everything has been. All of it.

He fakes another smile. “So. How much longer do I have to be on the hospital cafeteria diet?”

Scully exchanges a look with Dr. Lim, who says, “Officially, that’s up to you.  I can’t actually see any reason to keep you here, medically speaking. So if you feel like you're ready, you could go home as early as today.”

Oh, he’s ready. He is _more_ than ready to get the hell away from all things medical. If he ever has to see another needle or IV stand or MRI machine, it'll be too soon. The nursing staff will probably be thrilled to be rid of him, too; his second night here didn't go much better than the first.

There's just one tiny detail. He looks down at his hands.

“Do I, uh, do I still have a home to go to, or…?”

He doesn't have clothes or an ID or money or keys. Seems like pretty long odds he still has an apartment of his own. And as much as Scully might be willing to take him in, he can't ask that of her. Especially not given her… condition. By all appearances, she is going to have much bigger things than him to worry about, and very soon.

“Yes. You do.” He can't quite decode the look on her face, whether she means he still has an apartment in Alexandria or whether she intends to take him back to Georgetown with her. “But Mulder… I know you don't need me to tell you this, but you've had almost no time to recover. After everything you’ve been through, if you’re not ready to be on your own just yet, there’s nothing wrong with taking a few more days here. Or as long as you need.”

_On your own._ Alexandria, then. That’s good. It’s what he wanted. There is absolutely no reason for him to feel like he’s been kicked in the solar plexus over the fact that she didn’t even _offer_ to let him stay at her place. No reason whatsoever.

“If Dr. Lim says I’m a free man, then who am I to argue with that?” He looks pointedly at the hospital gown that’s only doing an adequate job of covering him. “Though I might need to borrow something a little less… drafty.”

Scully looks away, and is he just imagining it or is she blushing? “I have some of your clothes in my car.”

Of course she does. Dana Scully is nothing if not prepared. Prepared for what, however, he can’t say for sure. The kindest interpretation is that she knows him well enough to understand that he wouldn't want to stay in the hospital one minute more than is absolutely necessary. Alternatively, he could take the flush of her cheeks to be the result of guilt, because she's tired of driving up to Annapolis every day, and leaving clothes here for him means that he can just figure out his own way back to the city and let her get back to her own life.

Whatever. The sooner he gets out of here, the sooner he can start figuring out what the hell he’s supposed to do next. Whatever her motivation for helping that process along, the end result is the same.

He stands up, hoping he looks stronger than he feels. “Sounds like it's settled, then. Let's get this show on the road.”

***

Her avoidance and procrastination have turned out to be a real blessing in disguise. For the most part, Mulder's apartment is still just as it was three months ago, so it didn't take much to get it ready for him to return to.

The day after she took over Mulder's lease, she asked Agent Doggett to help her move the fish tank to her apartment; yesterday, he helped her move it back. She put together a bag of clothes to bring to the hospital, folding them almost reverently and thanking God yet again for this unbelievable gift. She also hired a cleaning service to come in and tackle the dust, but only after coming to terms with the fact that her belly was just too cumbersome for her to do the job, herself. Last night, she packed all of the things she'd taken -- a few of her favorite shirts of his, some photos, his copy of Carl Sagan's _Pale Blue Dot_ \-- back into a duffel bag, along with some of the clothes and toiletries she used to keep at his place. 

It is more than a little presumptuous, perhaps, this hope of hers that he will be willing to pick up where they left off. She accepts that it may take some time, and she’s willing to give him all the time he needs, but she has to hope that they will get there eventually. How in the world could she ever go back to the way things were before, knowing the full extent of what they have the capacity to be for each other? 

She tucked the duffel in the trunk of her car this morning, alongside the bag of his clothes, and fidgeted with nervous anticipation all the way to Annapolis. She needed to get answers today, needed to find out what they were up against with his neurogenerative disorder, so she could start planning a way forward. 

And now, hours later, she is still reeling from the results of his scans and tests. Complete reversal of pathology. Zero indication of disease _or_ any lasting damage. It would be unbelievable if not for everything else she has witnessed in the last week. Mulder is clearly in shock over the news as well, and understandably so. The inevitability of his fate had been all but assured, and he has been preparing himself for the worst almost since he woke up. To be told that he can not only go home today but also that he no longer needs to worry at all about the brain disease that plagued him for over a year… it is undoubtedly a lot to process.

When he comes out of the bathroom, dressed in his own shirt and jeans and familiar leather jacket, ready for her to take him home, the sight of it makes her so emotional she has to turn away.

He is quiet in the car, while she is practically bursting from everything she wants to tell him. About the months of searching, about how empty she felt without him, about the miracle of his return to life and the miracle of their child. Their _son_. But he still hasn't so much as acknowledged the pregnancy. Maybe he is afraid she will ask too much of him, some traditional arrangement with marriage and cohabitation that he is in no way ready for. She wants to assuage his fears, but she doesn't know how to bring it up without freaking him out.

So she waits. She tunes the radio to a sports talk station, the auditory equivalent of comfort food for him. When her hands itch to reach for his, she grips the steering wheel a little tighter instead.

***

In the car it’s even harder to ignore how very hugely pregnant Scully is. It’s weird as hell, and he trains his gaze determinedly out the window to keep from gawking.

He _is_ happy for her. As much as it hurts to see that she was apparently doing just fine without him, he is genuinely glad that she gave the IVF another shot. Regardless of biology (because she obviously must have used a donor egg and some other man’s sperm), that child will be hers, without question. She deserves every bit of happiness that will bring her, and then some.

He just doesn’t know what this means for _him_. Before he left for Oregon, things between them were… god, they were good. Yes, okay, he was hiding a massive and devastating secret from her; that part was pretty bad, he’ll admit. But the greatest irony of those months that he was slowly dying was that he’d never felt more alive. 

How is he supposed to go back to just being her friend? To holding her at arm’s length when all he wants to do is pull her to him and never let go?

Not that he could sleep with her right now anyway, even if she weren’t pregnant. He is far too fucked up from everything he’s been through; he’d be terrified of hurting her in the grip of one of his nightmares. But carrying on without the hope that there will ever be a place for him in her life (or her bed), going forward is too depressing a prospect to contemplate too deeply just now.

He doesn’t know how to even begin to broach the subject, can’t bear the inevitable look of pity in her eyes as she tries to let him down gently, so he says nothing, sitting and waiting for her to say something. 

She turns on the radio, instead.


	3. Chapter 3

_“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be cold or ungrateful. I just… I have no idea where I fit in, right now. I just, uh… I’m having a little trouble… processing… everything.”_

_Oh my God, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t realize. He thinks…_

“Mulder, I found out I was pregnant the day you went missing,” she blurts. To hell with laying too much on him too soon; he needs to know. “That vertigo I was having, on the case in Oregon… That was morning sickness.”

He goes completely still, and she waits, giving him a chance for it to sink in. Then his face falls, and he looks like he’s been punched, and damn it, she thought he would be _happy_.

“I guess, uh… guess I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets, back then. Well, fair’s fair.” 

_What the hell…?_

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“Look, it’s none of my business if you wanted to do another round of IVF last spring without involving me. It’s your… body and your choice and all of that. Though for the record, I would’ve been there for you no matter what.”

He stands up from where he’s been leaning against the desk and starts to head toward the bedroom. She steps over to intercept him, and he holds up his hands, defensively.

“I just… I can’t do this, Scully. Not right now. Please, I--”

“But there was no IVF!” she all but yells, desperate to keep him from walking away, desperate to _make him understand_. “Mulder, I cannot even begin to explain how it happened, but this pregnancy very much involves you.”

He blinks, then shakes his head. “Don’t bullshit me, Scully, and don’t lie to me just to spare my feelings. Your ova were taken from you. There is no way what you’re suggesting is even possible. You know it, and I know it. Now just let me--”

“Damn it, Mulder, the fact that you are even standing here talking to me isn’t possible! Those test results this morning weren’t possible!” She stares him down, willing him to hear her. “And even if they were, when has impossibility _ever_ stopped you from believing in something?”

She reaches toward him, and he flinches away. Dropping her hand, she blinks back tears because damn it, none of this is going how it was supposed to.

He turns sideways and sinks down on the couch as if his knees have just given out. Hunching forward with his elbows on his thighs, he stares straight ahead at the coffee table and takes shallow breaths. She watches, barely breathing, herself.

“If what you're saying is true,” he finally says, his voice tight and almost inaudible, “then why are you only telling me now? Why not in the hospital?”

_Are you kidding me with this?_

“Because the look on your face… From the moment you first noticed--” She gestures broadly to her belly. “-- _this_ , you were… Mulder, you could not have looked more terrified, or horrified, and I thought… God, after everything you had been through, and everything you thought you still had to fear about your brain, the idea of being a father on top of it all was just too much. I was trying to give you time!” 

She looks down, sighing ruefully. _I tried to do the right thing, but it seems I could not have been more wrong._

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to tell you,” she whispers, still staring at the floor. “How much it hurt to stand beside your grave, knowing you had died without ever learning--”

“Scully.”

She dares a glance back up at his face, and there it is again, that same slightly awestruck look that was in his eyes when he woke up yesterday morning. Because she knows him as well as she does, she can also see the fear lurking behind it, the tightness around his mouth and cautious set to his shoulders. Slowly, not taking his eyes off hers, he stands, closing the gap between them in one step. His gaze flicks down at her belly and then back up, questioning.

“Do you really mean it? That I… that we…?”

She nods, a smile spreading across her face as she reaches for his hands. He lets her bring them to rest flat against both sides of her stomach. A shiver runs through her at the contact; God, she has wanted this for _so long._

“Yes, Mulder. I don’t know how, but yes. We did this.”

***

It’s unbelievable, so far outside the realm of possibility that it never even occurred to him this could be an option, not even when she told him about the timing. He simply could not wrap his head around the notion of an explanation that didn’t involve a donor egg, and he has been so focused on trying to protect himself, on finding a way to accept the reality of her moving on without him, that somehow it made more sense to believe she was lying, instead.  

But then she said the word “father,” and his defenses began to crumble.

He still doesn’t quite believe it, not fully. But he _wants_ to. He doesn’t trust the hope that is starting to surge through him, standing here in front of her, because if he lets himself give in to that hope, and everything comes crashing down after all, he’s not sure he will survive it. But her thumbs are stroking the backs of his hands, and she is looking at him like he is an even bigger miracle than the one between his palms, and oh, he may already be past the point of no return.

_We did this._

Something clicks, and this feeling that’s been plaguing him for days, the sensation of having fallen out of phase with the rest of the world, evaporates. For the first time since just after he woke up, he truly feels like he’s _home_.

He slides his hands out from under hers and brings them up to cup her face. Slowly, deliberately, trying to give her every opportunity to pull away if this isn’t what she wants, he brings his mouth to hers. With centimeters between them, she sighs against his lips and presses forward to close the gap.

His eyes close, and time stops. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the salt hits his tongue.

Breaking the connection between them with a sharp inhalation, he presses his forehead against hers instead. Everything he has been holding at bay comes rushing to the surface, the good and the bad, memories of screaming her name on the ship all jumbled up with the desire to pick her up and carry her to his bed, along with the sinking realization, finally, of what she must have gone through in his absence. It’s disorienting and overwhelming, and he finds himself struggling to stay upright.

“Mulder.”

He throws a hand out blindly for the arm of the couch and staggers backward, all but collapsing onto the cushions. She’s beside him in an instant, grounding him with one hand on his knee and one on his shoulder. He gulps air, reaching for her fingers and squeezing.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she says. “I’ve got you.”

It’s not enough contact though, and he turns toward her, wrapping his arms around her ribcage and burying his face in the crook of her shoulder. Tentatively at first, but then more solidly when he doesn’t pull away, she runs her fingers through his hair. He can’t even make out what she’s murmuring in his ear, but it doesn’t matter. Whether from years of conditioning or just because of its very nature, her voice on its own is the single most soothing thing he can imagine. He focuses on the sound, breathing, as his panic slowly ebbs.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, once he has found some semblance of composure. 

_I’m sorry for falling apart, sorry for leaving you, sorry for coming back broken…_

With a long sigh, he unwraps himself from around her and sits upright, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t know how I ever thought I could do this without you,” he says, his words muffled. “I’m a mess.”

He lets his hands fall into his lap, and she reaches for them, squeezing gently. Her smile is crooked and a little sad, but the look in her eyes is one of reassurance, not pity.

“Good thing I’m not going anywhere, then.”

He leans forward to kiss her again, chaste and brief, before sitting back with another sigh. It’s going to be a long road ahead, none of it easy, but if she is really going to be there alongside him through it all, then he is one lucky sonofabitch.

“Yeah,” he says, the beginnings of a smile starting to creep at the edges of his mouth. “Yeah it is.”


End file.
